Masque
by SkylaraK
Summary: Upon returning home from London, Brennan decides to give Booth what he wants in fantasy. Mostly B/B friendship, with a smidge of romance.
1. Bliss and Blind Confusion

This will be a quick, two chapter piece. The second chapter is almost done and should be posted on Friday. To get an idea of what Booth and Brennan are wearing in this story, check my profile for links to pictures.

I don't normally do chapter titles (I have a hard enough time finding a suitable title for the story as a whole), but this time there were several that I really liked. The title of this chapter is "Bliss and Blind Confusion" which is a line in Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight. Speaking of Camelot, the verse goes, "where wonders, wars, misfortune / and troubled times have been, / where bliss and blind confusion / have come and gone again." As you'll see, Booth experiences both bliss (in getting to spend time with Brennan) and blind confusion (at what she has planned for him).

Aside from doing a great job going over this chapter and helping with some goofy phrasing, FauxMaven also came up with the idea of using "Masque" as a title. A masque was an event that took place in the courts of 16th and 17th century Europe. There would be music, dancing, singing, and acting. Elaborate costuming and stage design were important parts of the masque, as well. That in itself describes the main setting of this story, but the masque was often used to celebrate a birth, marriage, or change of ruler. The masque, in this story, is also a celebration of Booth's 'knighting.'

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Bones. I just like to play with the characters.

--

It had been a long week. Quite long, in fact, and on this Saturday morning, Booth was looking forward to relaxing. He stayed in bed longer than usual, and when he got up to make himself breakfast, he didn't bother making the bed, nor did he pick up the empty pizza box he had left on the couch. Punching a button on his stereo, his old Social Distortion CD began playing from where he had left it the night before. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, hiking up his sagging pajama bottoms. With eggs and milk from the fridge, a bowl from the cabinet, and a fork from the drawer, Booth set to making himself some scrambled eggs. He set a skillet on the stovetop and let it heat while he whisked the eggs and milk with the fork.

Just as he poured the mixture into the pan, he heard a knock at the door over the sizzle of the eggs. Figures. He debated running to the bedroom to put a shirt on before answering the door, but unless he wanted his breakfast to burn, he needed to deal with his unexpected visitor quickly.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Brennan when he opened the door, but he was slightly taken aback by the way she just breezed in.

"Morning, Booth," she greeted him, having to shout a little over the music.

He grunted something at her, still not fully awake, and shut off the music on his way back to the kitchen. She was forced to follow him, which was probably for the best since his living room was a mess of beer bottles and pizza crusts.

Once he was back at the stove, properly scrambling the eggs with the spatula, he smiled apologetically at Brennan. "Sorry, just woke up," he mumbled.

She nodded, giving him a once-over, her gaze lingering on his bare chest. That cheered him up a little. Considering the time he spent sneaking glances at her, he always appreciated it when she ogled him back. "So to what do I owe this early morning visit?" he asked.

"It's after 10:30, it's hardly early," she commented. "Late night?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Just tired."

"Well, it's a good thing you're having a healthy breakfast," she said, indicating the skillet. "I've got a busy afternoon planned for you."

Jaw agape, Booth stared incredulously at his partner. "Didn't I just say I'm tired?" he protested.

"You should take a shower. I always feel better after showering," she said, nodding firmly as punctuation.

That offhand comment led to a series of inappropriate images flashing through Booth's still-groggy mind. He turned his attention back to the eggs to distract himself. They were more or less done, so he took a plate from the cabinet and slid the eggs onto it. He picked up the fork he had used as a whisk and rinsed it in the sink before using it to shovel some eggs into his mouth.

"Oh, Booth, that's really unsanitary," Brennan said, her nose wrinkled.

He rolled his eyes at her. Girls. They didn't like the three-second rule either. She watched him push more eggs into his mouth, and it occurred to Booth that he was being rude.

"Want some?" he asked around a mouthful of food.

Brennan shook her head, her expression a mixture of disgust and amusement. "That's revolting."

He couldn't help grinning. He knew it was immature, but there was still something fun about grossing out girls. And it wasn't often that he could do that to Brennan, who was never fazed by the gore that came with most of their cases. Finishing his breakfast in record time, he loaded the dishwasher while Brennan looked on, idly leaning against his countertop. He was curious about what she had planned but couldn't bring himself to ask—it was probably something squinty and that was not how he wanted to spend his day off. He brushed his hands across his pants and turned to his partner.

"So what are you going to do, just wait around while I get ready?"

She nodded. "Go shower, and wear something loose fitting."

Loose fitting? Huh. Now that he took the time to look at her properly, he noticed that she was wearing a faded t-shirt and a pair of baggy running shorts. Not what he was used to seeing her wear, that was for sure. He couldn't think of anything fun that they might do dressed like that.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Shaking her head, she smiled enigmatically at him. "Hurry up, we've got a bit of a drive ahead of us."

--

The warm water definitely helped him clear his head. Once he was in the shower, it occurred to him that he hadn't put up much of a fight, or even really asked about what she had planned. He'd had his whole day set in his mind (well, it wasn't difficult when you were planning on doing nothing), and he let her just waltz in and turn everything upside down. It's not like he should be surprised, he told himself—she'd been shaking up his life since the day they met, and he'd never really been able to resist it.

He just hoped she wasn't taking him somewhere boring. But then again, at least he'd have company (of the breathtakingly beautiful anthropologist variety), and he decided that would probably be better than being home alone.

--

They were stopped in a long line of traffic on a two-lane road lined with tall, leafy trees, and Booth was becoming irritated. She had insisted that they take his SUV, which meant he was driving, but she refused to tell him where they were going, giving out directions only as he needed them. She had loaded several mysterious bags in the back, including two long garment bags that were now hanging from the hook above the window. The bags were more confusing than enlightening, so he had kept his eye out for road signs that might give him a clue, but unless they were going to the Spotsylvania First Baptist Church's rummage sale or apple picking at High Hill Orchard, he was out of luck. He sure as hell hoped they weren't doing either of those.

During the hour-long drive, they had chatted as they usually did, but she had refused to give any hints about what she had planned. So they talked about their most recent case (the one that had left Booth so tired), reminisced about their time in London, and complained that neither of them had gotten much of a summer vacation. Finally, the line of cars moved forward and Booth was surprised to see a police officer holding up oncoming traffic so the line of cars they were in could turn left into an enormous, dusty lot.

"Oh, this is it, Booth. Turn left," she directed.

He did as told, and as the minivan in front of him turned, he saw tied between two trees an enormous yellow and green banner that read, "Virginia Renaissance Festival." Well, he was definitely not expecting that.

"You're taking me to a Renaissance festival?" he asked, completely surprised.

He glanced at her, seeing the shy smile on her lips. "I thought you'd like it," she told him. "You kept going on and on about being Sir Seeley Booth, so this is your chance."

Temporarily speechless, he followed the kids flagging him to where they wanted him to park. He was touched that Brennan would go out of her way to come up with something like this, something that was just for him. She showed him that she cared about him in a hundred little ways, whether it was cooking dinner for him or just a well-timed touch on his arm, but every time was like the first. Once he had pulled into a spot and shifted into park, he turned in his seat to face his partner.

"Thanks, Bones," he said. "You didn't really have to do this, you know."

"I know. Don't thank me yet, though. You still have to get dressed." The smirk on her face told him that he might be in for some trouble.

It dawned on him that that was probably why she wanted the SUV—the extra head and foot room. Then it occurred to him that they would probably have to get dressed in the car together, and he felt a momentary sense of panic.

"Wait, we're dressing here in the car?"

She nodded. "Don't be modest, Booth." She looked him up and down. "Remember, I've seen you naked already."

She sounded so irritatingly matter-of-fact. He wasn't worried about stripping down himself, it was more the fact that _she_ would be removing _her_ clothes, which he knew would do things to his body that he'd rather not have her see. At least, not in this situation anyway.

He coughed. "So, um…how do you want to do this?"

Again, there was that little smirk. "You'll need to take off your shorts and your t-shirt. I'll get your stuff from the back."

And with that, she climbed out and opened the back door, unzipping one of the bags and rummaging around. Silently groaning, he slipped off his sneakers. "Socks, too?"

"No, you'll need those."

He wriggled out of his shorts and folded them neatly, as if that would help him retain some of his dignity. She tossed a bundle of black cloth at him, and he opened it up to find surprisingly normal-looking pants, though just a little bigger than he was used to.

"Just normal pants, huh?" he asked.

"Sort of. They're actually called trews. Put them on, then tie the laces up from your ankle to your knee so that they'll be snug enough for your boots to go on over them," she explained as she tossed more things into the front seat.

It wasn't easy putting pants on with a steering wheel in the way, but he managed somehow. He had to open his door and sit with his legs over the side of the seat to do up the laces, which were a lot more complicated than she made out. He heard her moving about, but was surprised when he turned around to see her sitting in the back. His timing was horrible (perfect) as she had just hooked her fingers around the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, treating him to quite a show.

"Whoa, Bones! Give a guy a little warning," he exclaimed, hastily turning around to face front. If she wasn't careful, he wasn't going to be able to leave the car without reciting the Pledge of Allegiance several times.

"Your tunic's next to you. The green one," she told him, apparently ignoring his discomfort.

Like the pants, the shirt looked fairly normal, only more ample, and with a neck tie rather than buttons. He pulled his t-shirt off easily and slipped the tunic on, then risked a look into the backseat. Brennan was now wearing what looked like a ridiculously oversized white nightgown. Her arms were inside the body of the gown as she struggled with something; when he realized she was taking her bra off, he blushed furiously and abruptly faced front once more. What was she trying to do to him?

"Um, okay," she said, sounding distracted. "You'll need the overtunic next, hang on." She paused for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief; he assumed she had successfully removed her bra. "It's here in the garment bag." He heard unzipping and almost turned around again, but decided not to chance it. "You'll want to get out of the car to put this on. Here, let me help."

Booth stepped out onto the grass, studiously keeping his eyes on Brennan's face as she approached him, a bulky tangle of what looked like black denim in her arms. She fiddled around with the overtunic for a moment before getting it oriented properly, then reached up and guided it over Booth's head. There was a large panel in front with elaborately embroidered Celtic knotwork just under the neckline, then wide slits on either side for his arms. The rest seemed similar to a cape, covering his back and shoulders. She reached up and adjusted the material across his chest, and it occurred to him how very strange it was to have Brennan help him dress.

"Now your belt, and that pouch," she said, pointing to the passenger seat.

He retrieved the belt and pouch from the car, leaving only some tall boots. The belt was just a long piece of rough leather, with a single ring at one end. He must have looked perplexed, because Brennan took the belt from him and stepped close to him. Too close, actually, because he was having a difficult time not paying attention to the way her breasts were visible underneath that white nightgown she was wearing. It may have been shapeless, but it was also thin, and he couldn't help noticing her nipples standing out under the fabric. It was almost too much when she reached around him with the belt, her chest brushing against his. I pledge allegiance, to the flag…

And still, it got worse, as she fed the belt through the ring, then spent what seemed like an eternity trying to knot it, her hands all too close to the part of him he was desperately trying to ignore.

Finally, she stepped away from him. "Can you tie the pouch onto the belt yourself?" Her lips that were turned up just so and the mischievous glint in her eye let him know that she understood his predicament. Thankfully, the front panel of the overtunic that was now tucked under the belt was long enough to cover him.

Clearing his throat first, he assured her that he could manage. Once the pouch was secured to his belt, he put his wallet and car keys inside. It seemed that all that was left was his boots, and he sat back down to put them on, keeping an eye on Brennan at the same time. She stepped into her own pair of boots, giving Booth a glimpse of long, smooth legs as she hiked up her skirt to pull the boots well up over her knees. Then she unzipped the other garment bag and pulled out what looked like a vest with a skirt attached. He watched her slip her arms in, then draw the front closed. Brennan pulled the lacing tight through the grommets that lined the front. Tugging harder and harder, she grunted in frustration.

"Booth, could you help me? I can't get this tight enough." She stepped in front him, an expectant look on her face.

She had to be kidding. There was no way he was helping her tie up her, her—bodice, or whatever it was. It was one thing to zip up a dress in the back, but his hands would be so close, and he didn't know if he could resist.

"Please?" she asked, her voice plaintive.

With a sigh, he stood and began tugging on the lacing, first at the bottom, then working his way to the top. "What is this called, anyway?" he asked, partly to distract himself.

"Well, the website I ordered it from called it a Celtic Froca. It's sort of like a kirtle, I guess. The white part is a chemise," she explained, though he had no idea what a kirtle was. All he knew was his hands were literally at his partner's breasts, something he had dreamt about for ages, although the thick material prevented him from actually feeling much. If anything, the dress made her look flat-chested.

"Whatever it is, I think it's too small," he muttered. He couldn't figure out how Brennan was going to be able to breathe with this thing tied so snugly.

"That's how it's supposed to be, I think. That's probably good," she said, taking the laces from him and tying them in a knot. Then she slipped her hands underneath the top of the chemise that was visible above the top of the kirtle and grasped her breasts.

"Jesus, Bones!" he blurted.

Brennan rolled her eyes at him, and when she moved her hands, he groaned inwardly at the sight she had created. Her breasts nearly spilled out over the top of her dress, the taut bodice making things move up and out that he would really rather stay hidden, if he wanted to stay sane this afternoon.

"Are you ready yet?" he grumbled.

"Just about," she said. Reaching into the backseat again, she grabbed her purse and removed a few cards and some folded bills, then handed them to Booth to put in his pouch.

"What, not going to pull a Roxy?" he smirked, pleased to see her cheeks flush for a change.

"This is a family event, Booth," she chastised.

While he tucked her things into his pouch, he felt her studying him. He wasn't often the subject of her focused gaze—normally she reserved that for ravaged remains—and her scrutiny made him a little uncomfortable. When he looked up at her, he saw her eyes roving over his body, a frown drawing the corners of her mouth down. He wasn't used to that reaction; he put a lot of effort into his appearance most days and generally thought he did a good job of it, but he had no experience in dressing up in medieval garb. Maybe being a knight didn't suit him.

He was just about to ask her what was wrong when she exclaimed, "Oh! I knew I forgot something. Your chain."

She reached back into one of the bags inside the car and after a moment's pause, pulled out a long, thick bronze and nickel chain made of several strands of linked rings joined together to form one thick band. Holding it aloft before him, she gently lowered it over his head and it settled heavily on him. She adjusted it so it sat wide across his shoulders, rather than the way a woman's necklace clung narrowly to her neck.

"Knights usually wore a chain to denote their rank. It was a status symbol, and a symbol of authority. Rather like your FBI badge, actually," she explained, earning a smile from him.

After closing and locking the doors, they checked out their reflections in the glass. He didn't look bad, actually; he thought he made a pretty damn good knight after all. Booth turned to Brennan, his arm held out.

"Lady Temperance," he offered. She slipped her arm around his, smiling warmly at him.

"Sir Seeley," she nodded, and they set off towards the gates.


	2. A Tastier Plum

So sorry that this chapter was delayed. First Ike threw us off, then general life stuff got in the way, as it tends to do. There will be one more chapter, hopefully within the next week. Also, sorry for not replying to reviews yet.. I claim motherhood as my excuse.

A huge thanks to FauxMaven who made some great suggestions that really improved this chapter. Thank goodness she didn't get washed away by the hurricane!

The title of this chapter, "A Tastier Plum" is from Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight. It refers to the temptress that Gawaine meets while seeking to complete his quest, specifically in comparison to an older woman he also meets.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Bones. I'm just borrowing the characters.

--

Having never been to a Renaissance faire, Booth didn't have any real idea of what it would be like, but still, the place far exceeded his expectations. The whole of the fair was set in the woods, creating a cozy atmosphere with sun-dappled paths and shaded sitting areas. The entrance was an enormous, permanent structure designed to look like the front of a Tudor manor, with a huge portcullis set into the front. A man with long white hair crowned with autumn leaves and wearing soft green robes stood taking tickets.

"Good day, lovely Lady of the Forest," he said, bowing to Brennan. "I do so hope you enjoy your time." Then he turned to Booth. "Ah, good sir knight, welcome! We are in dire need of brave men today. You'll find plenty of adventure!"

Booth mumbled his thanks, a little embarrassed by the man's effusiveness and costume. Brennan, for her part, curtsied deeply and gave him an equally flowery greeting. Turning his attention to the open square in front of him, Booth realized that he would have to quickly get used to people in strange costumes, as the vast majority of the crowd was dressed for the occasion. Most wore outfits similar to his and Brennan's, but some wore full suits of chain mail and elaborate helmets, while others were covered almost entirely in ragged furs and horned masks. He was having trouble remembering that since he was in costume as well, he wasn't one to judge the faire-goers.

The storefronts were just as intricately detailed as the entrance. Rows of wood buildings lined the wide path, with wares displayed on the first floor, and what Booth assumed was a faux façade creating a second floor. It was all in the Tudor style, for the most part. He was impressed that, while the buildings probably weren't realistic by any means, they at least used real wood, rather than cheaper-looking materials.

"The illusion is remarkable," Brennan commented, a note of wonder in her voice. Booth turned to face her, unable to resist smiling at the look of amazement on her face.

"It looks great, doesn't it? You could almost believe you really were in some medieval village," he agreed.

"Well, technically, the faire was created to appear authentic to some time after the Middle Ages." Seeing the look he gave her, she hastily added, "Well, there is some overlap, so 'medieval village' may be accurate enough."

They stood still for a few minutes, off to the side, just taking in the view. It struck Booth as odd the number of people who dressed up. This was a whole subculture that he really hadn't been aware of. It reminded him of something else—

"Hey, Bones," he said quietly, tilting his head towards her ear. "Is this, like, you know, a sex thing?"

"A sex thing?" she asked, frowning.

"You know, like at the Ambassadora."

Brennan chuckled, causing a surge of defensiveness to rise in his gut. "No, Booth, that was definitely a sexual thing; this is something else all together. I'm sure for some people, coming to the faire is a way to find a partner for some costumed sexual intercourse, but look at all the children," she said, pointing out little girls in princess and fairy outfits, boys dressed as knights and wizards. "For the most part, I think these people just enjoy escaping from reality for a little while."

They began exploring, Booth once again offering his arm to Brennan. He couldn't really explain it—maybe it was the character he was trying to get into, or maybe it was his partner's delicious cleavage that he was trying not to openly stare at—but somehow it seemed more natural to take her hand here than in the real world. They passed merchants selling drums and harps, handmade pottery, nylon wings and fake flower wreaths, and all sorts of armor and weaponry.

As they exited a clothing shop (he had tried to convince her to buy a skimpy top that looked like nothing so much as a leather loincloth), an older man dressed in a vibrantly colored slashed doublet and extremely puffy pants bowed low before them. Booth and Brennan exchanged amused glances.

"Good day!" he greeted them. "I'm Gareth, and I'll be doing a hypnosis show in a little over a half hour." He indicated the small stage adjacent to the shop. "I'm hoping to find a few volunteers for the show."

With a shake of his head, Booth said, "Sorry, no thanks." There was no way he was going to let himself be hypnotized in front of a crowd of people.

He moved to walk away, but Brennan asked the man, "What do you need to do?"

"Just some pre-hypnosis work. My show isn't long enough to hypnotize someone for the first time, we need to leave time to have fun with our volunteers," he grinned. "I've already got two brave volunteers; we can start now and be ready in time for the show."

She turned to Booth, eyebrows raised, her smile hopeful. "Do you mind? It might be fun."

Booth stared incredulously at her for a moment before commenting, "You know, I never thought you were the type to believe in hypnosis."

Brennan shrugged. "Well, Cam and Angela have been hypnotized, and they say it was real for them. Whether this is or not, I don't know. But even if it's not, it would still be interesting."

"Well, if you insist," he said, holding his arm out toward the stage.

--

For his half hour by himself, Booth mostly occupied himself with observing the culture. The stage was along the main thoroughfare, so he sat in the last row of rough-hewn benches, his back to the stage, facing the crowd. The path was paved with a mix of bark mulch and gravel, but there were some patches of bare dirt and the foot traffic kicked up a persistent low cloud of dust. He found he was able to pick out three main types of faire-goers. There were the costumed people, who seemed to take the faire somewhat seriously, or at least really enjoyed staying in character. Then there were the people who wore regular clothes but by their wistful looks at the costumed people, wished they had dressed up. The third group, which he couldn't help being ticked off by, were the people snickering at those in costume, drinking liberal amounts of beer, and generally being scornful. Thankfully there were only a handful of those; almost everyone seemed to just be really pleased to be out at an extraordinary event, with good weather, and lots of other people to share the experience with.

When the benches started filling up, Booth swung his legs around to face front. The stage was small and backed by what appeared to be a ramshackle cottage. There was a doorway partially covered by cloth and two false windows, though the flowers in the window boxes were real. It wasn't long before the hypnotist appeared on the stage, setting three wood chairs in a row. He addressed the crowd, introducing himself in character and including a fair bit of his background. After a few jokes to warm up the audience, he brought Brennan and two other young men out from behind the curtained doorway.

The three volunteers looked completely normal to him—he had half-expected them to look dazed or somehow visibly entranced. But Brennan's eyes found him in the crowd and she gave a little wave, which he returned with a wink and a smile. Gareth the Hypnotist had his subjects sit in the chairs and explained to the crowd how he had done some backstage work with them to make the show go a little smoother. He then proceeded to put his hands on the shoulders of one of the men and spoke a few quiet, yet authoritative words to him. The young man slumped forward, his head resting on his knees. Brennan, who was sitting next in line, looked mildly alarmed, but before she had time to react, she was slumped similarly. Once the third volunteer was put under, the hypnotist turned to the audience.

"Our three courageous volunteers are now under hypnosis. The only voice they will pay attention to is mine. So, now, I call on you!" he exclaimed, arms spread wide, encompassing the crowd. "What amazing feats shall we have them perform?"

There was an instant uproar, and Booth only caught snatches of suggestions: "Make him act like a duck!" "Make her dance!" "Make him think he's a baby!" Many of the shouts were lewd suggestions aimed at Brennan, and a defensive impulse rushed through Booth.

Gareth held up his hands, quieting the audience. After a moment's thought, he whispered instructions to both Brennan and the first young man. When he snapped his fingers, they sat up, seemingly alert and normal, until the young man slid out of his seat and began crawling towards the edge of the stage. Brennan leapt to her feet and ran after him.

"No, no, honey! That's dangerous!" she scolded. She grabbed him under the armpits and attempted to lift him up, but he clearly weighed too much for her.

"My, sweetheart, you're getting heavy! What a big boy! Yes, you are!" she cooed.

That brought a good deal of laughter from the audience, including Booth. This was definitely a side of Brennan he had never seen. The hypnotist must have included some suggestions as to what type of mother she should be, because he knew from experience that this wasn't the way she talked to children. Brennan then tried to get the man into her lap so she could feed him. There was quite a lot of struggling before the man was finally seated on her lap, leaning back in her right arm (Booth had no idea how could she support the weight of a full grown man like that), while her left hand held an imaginary bottle to the man's lips.

"That's my widdle pumpkin, yes, drink up your yummy milkies! Who's the cutest baby in the whole wide world? You are! Yes, you are!"

The young man, who was making vigorous sucking motions with his mouth (which was almost as funny as Brennan's baby talk), cooed happily, staring into his 'mother's' eyes.

"Okay, time for a burpie!" Brennan announced. She heaved him to a sitting position, using one hand to support his front, while patting his back firmly. As if on cue, the young man let out an enormous belch, to the delight of the crowd. Gareth took this moment to snap his fingers once again, and immediately Brennan and the young man stiffened, both completely shocked and a little horrified to find themselves in that position. The audience roared their approval.

Next, Gareth put the two men back under, while leaving Brennan conscious. She (and everyone else) watched while the two men recreated a scene from a delivery room—the other man playing the part of the woman giving birth, while the man who had been Brennan's son got to be the frantic husband. This went on for quite some time, the crowd laughing uproariously, until the hypnotist finally put the two men out of their misery and snapped them awake.

"Let's have a big round of applause for Josh, Temperance, and Stephen!" Booth clapped enthusiastically, adding to the din around him. "Now, if you've enjoyed my show, get out your wallet and pull out a five or even a ten dollar bill. Then put your wallet into my hat!" He swept his feathered hat off his head with a flourish and jogged down the main isle to the back of the audience.

Brennan caught up with him off to the side, after Booth had put a few bills into Gareth's outstretched hat. He smirked at her, which earned him a prod in the ribs.

"So how was it?" she asked, just a little bit anxiously.

Booth slung his arm around her shoulder and gave her a wicked grin. "Well, for starters…"

--

Booth's attention was focused on a particularly dangerous looking claymore, Brennan standing at his side and discoursing on the origins and uses of the arms laid out in the weaponry stall. The burly smith, who was diligently hammering a piece of red-hot metal in the adjacent forge, gave her a sidelong glance.

"The downward sloping arms of the guard are common on Scottish swords like this one, though the arms usually ended in an enlarged quatrefoil design. Claymores were actually somewhat smaller than most other two-handed swords," she lectured. Making one of her lightning-fast changes of topic that so often confused him, she said, "It's highly doubtful that I would have used that immature language while I was under hypnosis. You must have been exaggerating."

Without waiting for his response, she turned her attention to the sword lying next to the claymore. "This katana is also a two-handed sword, of Japanese origin. Note the curving blade. Recently, the term 'katana' has been used inaccurately to mean any Japanese sword, but only single-edged curved blades should be called katanas."

"Listen, Bones, I'm not exaggerating. Obviously, you had no control over it. Let it go," he said impatiently.

Brennan was about to respond when a woman approached them. It was all Booth could do not to gawk: her shirt (if you could call it that, it looked like a bikini with sleeves) was tied tightly in a knot between her breasts, showing a firm stomach and more skin than should be allowed at a family event. On her shoulder, she carried a beribboned basket that was brimming with roses.

"Ah, good sir," she addressed Booth, "I see your lady has not a rose; has she done you some ill, or are you just of the boorish type, and have yet to purchase one for her?"

He blinked at her and almost told her off before catching on. "Oh, err, no," he said, grasping for the right words. "I've, um, yet to find a rose that matches her beauty." Smooth—if only he hadn't stuttered his way through the delivery. "Would you be the lucky peddler who has such a blossom?" Well, that was better. Glancing at Brennan, he was pleased to see her blushing.

"I'm afraid to say that your quest will be fruitless, for there is indeed nothing that can match your love's radiance." The woman curtsied to Brennan, and then continued, "However, every lady deserves a rose, wouldn't you say?"

Booth chuckled at the peddler's persistence and handed over a few dollars while Brennan selected a coral hued rose. The woman seemed pleased with Brennan's choice and winked at her—which struck Booth as particularly strange.

"The joust will be starting soon," the woman told them before she strode away. "The tourney field is over yonder!"

Following the crowd heading in the direction the peddler had indicated, Booth once again found his arm linked with Brennan's. He watched her hold her rose under her nose, the delicate petals just brushing her skin as she inhaled. It was such an innocent gesture, but somehow, it seemed inexpressibly erotic to him. This day was turning out so much better than he had thought it would be when he first woke up, and it was all due to his incredible partner. The urge to gather her into his arms rushed through him, though he manfully pushed the thought away. Instead, he gently bumped his shoulder against hers.

When she looked up at him, he leaned close, and with a smile on his lips, murmured, "I'm glad to be here with you, Bones."


End file.
